The Real Thing (Sugar Lake Book 1)

by Melissa Foster

  Piper leaned closer to Willow and whispered, “This is all Mom’s doing.” Then louder, “I have an estimate to give in ten minutes. I need to boogie. Thanks for breakfast.” She grabbed a muffin and headed for the door.

  “And I need to open my shop. You know your fiancé called me about the roses, but I didn’t have the stock to fill your bakery with them.” Bridgette raised her brows and said, “The guy’s got serious game, sis.”

  Louie kissed Bridgette. “’Bye, Mommy.”

  “Bridge, take the body butter,” Willow pleaded while Bridgette fussed over her little man.

  “No way.” Bridgette headed out of the kitchen. “If too many Zane seekers come by and drive you crazy, text me and I’ll come save you.”

  “Thanks, Bridge. Don’t blame me if your phone starts vibrating like a”—she looked at her mother—“phone.”

  Roxie laughed. “Honey, I really can finish the baking.”

  Willow closed her eyes for a second, breathing deeply and trying to channel her inner calm.

  Her mother chuckled and reached a hand out to Louie. “Come on, sugarplum. Let’s go work in the garden and leave Auntie Willow to her baking.” On the way out the door, Roxie lowered her voice and said to Louie, “Maybe tomorrow she’ll let us take over.”

  Willow grabbed a doughnut and shoved it in her mouth to keep from accepting her mother’s offer and hightailing it upstairs to be with Zane.

  ZANE TRIED TO give Willow space so she didn’t feel smothered, but every minute was a test of his willpower. She’d kept him at arm’s length for so many years, he wanted to soak up as much time with her as possible. A brief phone call with Jacob told him that his threat had helped, but after going for a run, studying his lines, and weeding through e-mails, he couldn’t stay away another minute.

  The bell over the bakery door rang, and Willow looked up from where she was bent over the counter. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid, making her damp green eyes look even more devastating. She dabbed at them with a wad of napkins, her lips curving up in a strained smile.

  Zane’s heart lurched as he closed the distance between them, vaguely aware of the customers sitting at the table saying hello to him as he passed. “What’s wrong?”

  She pushed from the counter and waved his screenplay at him. “This. Z . . . ?”

  “It’s that bad? I knew it was rough, but—”

  “Shut up. Rough?” She thrust the papers against his chest, and a tear slid down her cheek. “This is heartbreaking, and beautiful, and suspenseful. It’s not at all what I expected.”

  “Thanks?” He wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb and kissed her softly. In a blue T-shirt and cutoffs, she looked deliciously sexy. “I missed you, and you nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought something had happened.”

  “Something did happen.” She inhaled deeply and shook her head.

  “She’s been crying the whole time I’ve been here.” A gray-haired woman rose from one of the tables and smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time,” Zane answered.

  “I’ll give you a hint. You brought me groceries and cut my lawn after my husband left.” She pulled her purse over her shoulder, and recognition dawned on him.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to Willow, and came around the counter, unable to believe his eyes. “Mrs. Gerstone?” He had cut her lawn and brought her groceries from the time he was thirteen until he left town for good. She had been so heavy for all those years, she could barely walk. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

  “It’s funny what losing a hundred and thirty pounds does to a person’s appearance. And their health.” She touched his cheek. Her palm was cool against his face. “You were my inspiration. Bless you, Zane.”

  “Me?”

  “Oh yes. I buried my unhappiness about the hand I’d been dealt in food. You used yours for motivation. And look where you are now.” She looked at Willow and then back at Zane, who was floored by her admission. “Engaged to our Willow, the kindest woman in all of Sweetwater.”

  Willow came around the counter. “She’s only saying that because I make her special nonfat muffins and sugar-free tarts.”

  “Bless you both,” Mrs. Gerstone said. “I’m glad you never forgot your roots, Zane. You always were a nice boy.”

  They talked for a minute longer, and after she left Willow said, “You know what you said about my family knowing the real you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think the people here know the real you, too.” She looked down at the screenplay as they walked back to the counter. “But after reading this, I wonder how much of you I really know. You blew me away. You’re brash and cocky, but this . . . this is . . .” She nibbled on her lower lip, a deep V forming between her brows. “It’s raw and passionate. I don’t know anything about the streets of Chicago, but this boy . . .” She lifted her eyes to him again. “How did you come up with this story? You have to make this into a movie.”

  “Says my very biased fiancée.”

  “Zane, if it sucked I wouldn’t encourage you to share it with anyone else.” She hooked her finger into his belt loop. “But it’s incredible. I don’t know how you get scripts made into movies, but can you show it to your director or something?”

  “I’m on the fence with showing it to anyone in the industry, and honestly, I want to be the one to produce it if I do decide to go in that direction.” He’d been wrestling with this since the spring and still didn’t have enough faith in his writing to do anything with it. But her support gave him a modicum of hope that it really didn’t suck.

  Her eyes bloomed wide. “That’s awesome. You should totally do it.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  She began wiping down the counter. He grabbed a washcloth and helped, speaking in hushed tones so the customers didn’t hear him.

  “Right now I’m on top of my game, babe. But you’ve heard the stories about actors who try to become producers or directors, and when their film flops, it overshadows everything else.”

  She stopped wiping down the counter, her eyes flat, her mouth pressed into a firm line. “Zane Walker, you walked out of Podunk Sweetwater with zero experience and made your way to the top of the action-hero list, and you’re going to let something like what could happen stop you from doing something bigger?” She smirked. “Guess you’re not the man I thought you were.”

  He sidled up to her, gathering her close, and guided her to the pastry display, blocking the customers’ view of them. “I think I proved what kind of man I am last night.” He slid his hands to her butt and squeezed, earning an adorable squeak from Willow. “I’d be happy to show you right here and now that I’m far more of a man than you ever imagined.”

  “What if I say okay?”

  He bit her earlobe, and she made an enticing sound of appreciation. “Then I’ll kick out these customers and take you into the back room, strip you bare, and make you come so many times you won’t remember your name.”

  Her breath rushed from her lungs. “You’re so bad,” she whispered, tightening her hands on his waist. “I like it a lot, but seriously, you need to show the screenplay to Sam Shearson or you’re never getting any again.”

  He drew back, gazing into her amused eyes. “Who the heck is Sam Shearson, and why does he own the rights to our bedroom activity?”

  “He won an Academy Award in 1962 for a screenplay, and if you’re afraid it’s not good enough to show anyone in the industry,” she explained, “he can tell you if it is or not. He’s a retired fisherman, not even remotely in your business, and he comes in every morning at eight o’clock sharp.”

  “Wait, we have an Academy Award–winning writer in Sweetwater?” He raked a hand through his hair. “How could I not know that?”

  She began wiping down the counter again. “Because he’s eighty-five years old and you were busy being a kid when you lived here. I didn’t meet him unti
l I opened the bakery.” A dreamy look came over her. “He’s a total banana nut muffin.”

  “Um . . . ?”

  “Oh.” She laughed softly. “You know how people say that if you have a dog, at some point you start to resemble them?”

  “I guess . . .”

  “Well, you’d be surprised how much people resemble the foods they order. Every morning Sam orders a banana nut muffin, and let me tell you, he is exactly that. He’s been around forever, he’s stable—banana nut muffin recipes rarely vary by much—and he’s substantial. You know, smart and interesting to talk to, as opposed to, say, a date roll. If you see someone order a date roll, run like hell.”

  She cocked her head like she’d just made perfect sense, and he couldn’t help but think she had it all figured out and he was the one grasping at straws.

  “Sam’s here every morning like clockwork, so make sure you’re here tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp or no nookie for you.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. “You’re a pushy woman. Do you know how much I adore you?”

  “We’ll see how much tomorrow morning. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I think I picked up a new wedding cake order. I have a tasting scheduled next week, and I got the menus from Payton. Gluten free, sugar free, nut free. No citrus, no red dye, no white flour. Not my favorite, but I’ll make it happen. I’m going to send her a box of my pastries so she knows what I’m capable of when not hamstrung by dietary issues. Thank you for arranging the catering. I really do appreciate it.”

  The bell above the door sounded, and a young woman with two adorable blond-haired little girls walked in. Excitement rose in Willow’s voice. “How are my favorite marble and chocolate chip cookie girls?”

  “Willow!” The girls ran toward the counter as Willow came around and crouched with open arms. Both girls slammed into her, hugging her tightly as she laughed.

  “I have gone a whole eight days without seeing you.” Willow’s eyes shimmered with delight. “Where have you been hiding?”

  “We went to see Uncle Buck in Washington,” the taller of the two girls said. “He’s getting married.”

  “Is he, now?”

  The girls nodded vehemently as Willow rose to her feet and hugged the girls’ mother.

  “And I hear congratulations are in order for you, too,” the woman said.

  Willow flashed a look of surprise at Zane. Get used to it, baby, because this is really happening.

  “Thank you,” Willow said. “I’m still not used to the idea that everyone knows about it. We only got engaged this past weekend. But I guess that goes with the territory of being engaged to Zane.” She stole another glance at him, inciting the heat of a laser beam.

  Oh yeah, he’d be meeting Sam Shearson tomorrow. He’d do anything she wanted him to.

  The girls reached for Willow’s hands, and she knelt again, putting her arms around them. Zane’s heart thudded a little harder. He hadn’t spent much time thinking beyond winning Willow over, but he needed to. Willow’s life was here, with the business she’d built and the people who loved her. If he wanted Willow, he had to do more than earn her trust. He had to be willing to come back to Sweetwater for good.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WILLOW HAD BEEN waking up at four thirty in the morning for years without issue, but now, as she absently slapped the nightstand in search of her phone to turn off her alarm, a deliciously tempting man shifted on top of her and began kissing her neck.

  “I’m coming with you,” Zane said between shivery kisses.

  “You always come with me. You’re the double-rainbow king. The mutual-orgasm master. The postman who always rings twice . . .”

  He laughed against her neck and nipped at her skin. “I meant to the bakery, but I’m totally up for a game of Willow-go-round.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, surprised at how quickly she’d gotten used to sharing her bed—and her apartment. “I thought having you around all the time would be annoying since, well, you know, you kind of bullied your way into my life. But there are benefits to having a hot guy at my disposal.”

  He grinned down at her. “Bullied?”

  “Tricked? Coerced?”

  “I think reentered is better.” He nudged her legs open, teasing her with the head of the world’s most talented pleasure wand.

  “Like you’re trying to reenter my body?” She gave his ass a smack.

  “Now that you mention it, that does sound like a good idea.” He kissed her cheeks, forehead, chin, the corners of her lips . . .

  Everywhere except her panting mouth. If he didn’t kiss her mouth soon, she might combust. She mentally debated if she could be late to work without screwing up her entire morning. He dragged his tongue along the ridge of her jaw. Oh yeah, the muffins can wait.

  She leaned up to trap his mouth, and he pulled back with a devilish grin. “You think I’m hot.”

  She laughed. “This bed is too small for you, me, and your ego.”

  He grabbed her hips with both hands and held them down. His eyes turned fierce and demanding, and her entire body ignited.

  “You love my big ego.”

  She reached for a condom from the box they’d torn open last night and tossed a handful on the bed. “I have five minutes.”

  He grabbed a condom and reared up to sheath himself.

  “What if I want to play for ten minutes?” he asked with a smirk.

  “We played for hours last night.” She pointed to the area beneath her eyes. “See these bags? They’re called Z-bags, and don’t you dare make any tea bagging jokes.”

  He laughed as he settled over her. “You want it fast and dirty or sweet and sensual?” He slicked his tongue along her lower lip.

  “Z—” she pleaded. “Five minutes.”

  He pushed the head of his cock inside her and stilled, dipping his head to tease her nipple. “Five minutes is not nearly enough.”

  Her sex clenched around him, and she lifted her hips. He pushed them down to the mattress without missing a beat with his magnificent tongue. He grazed his teeth over her nipple, sending darts of exquisite pain to her core.

  “Zane,” she panted out, and he began rocking the broad head of his cock in and out, ever so slowly, driving her out of her flipping mind.

  He captured her mouth, kissing her roughly as his slow tease continued. His hands pressed harder, his kiss intensified, and she heard herself whimper. Five minutes would never be enough. A week would never be enough. Loving Zane Walker would take a lifetime. And then some.

  “I love you, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me you love me. I need to hear it.”

  “I love you. I’ve always been in love with you,” she answered, but she knew he felt the part of her that was holding back.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I’ll take it, and I’ll love you so hard you won’t be able to remember why you were scared of me in the first place.”

  “I don’t need you to love me hard or to buy me ten dozen roses. I just need you, Zane. Plain and simple. I need to know that the Zane I love right this second is the same man who will fly back to California in a few weeks.”

  “I can’t promise you that.”

  Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

  “My love for you has grown every moment since I told you how I felt, and it’s going to get even bigger.” He touched his lips to hers. “Deeper,” he whispered, trailing kisses over her mouth. “So much so, I’ll need all the seats on the plane just to bring it along.”

  His mouth came coaxingly down over hers, and emotions swamped her. She disappeared into the sensual, sweet tenderness of the kiss, and when he thrust forward, filling her completely in one powerful motion, her body shuddered in ecstasy.

  A few hours and two orgasms later, Willow was wrapping up a scone for the last of the morning rush. Zane had come down with her at five thirty and helped her with an hour of baking before his jitteriness had driven her crazy and she’d sent him out of the kitchen. He was tied in
knots over sharing his screenplay with Sam. She hadn’t had a chance to read the whole thing, but she couldn’t imagine anyone thinking it was anything short of stellar.

  “Here you go, sweetie. Have a great day.” She handed the bakery bag to her customer and poured a fresh cup of coffee for Zane.

  He looked up from the table where he was poring over his screenplay. He’d run his hand through his hair so many times it stood on end. Willow set down the coffee and finger-combed his hair.

  “I love the just-romped look,” she teased. “But maybe a little less wild will go over better with Sam.”

  “Thanks, babe.” He glanced at his watch for the millionth time.

  “He’ll be here in five minutes.”

  “I don’t want to push myself on him,” Zane said.

  “Zane Walker.” She put her hand on his forehead. “Pushiness is your middle name. Are you feeling feverish?”

  He pulled her in for a kiss. “Just for you.”

  “I get off work in a few hours. But my fiancé might kick your ass if he finds out you’re hitting on me. We’d have to be very covert.”

  His eyes narrowed, and she laughed.

  “Really?” She sank down to the chair beside him. “You’re jealous of yourself?”

  “Just nervous, baby.”

  “I can see how much this means to you, but you have nothing to worry about. From what I read, it’s an amazing story.” She sat back and crossed her arms, taking in his dark T-shirt, his golden tan, and his knee bouncing like a jackhammer under the table. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “You weren’t even this nervous your first time.”

  His hand coasted through his hair again. “I was, but you needed me to be confident. And I trusted you, Wills. I had read enough about sex and watched enough porn to know I’d be pretty good at it. This is totally different.”

  “You researched sex?” That shouldn’t surprise her, but it did.